


drome sweet home

by sionnain



Category: GI Joe (cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sionnain/pseuds/sionnain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After successfully fighting off the Gamemaster's demented toys and navigating his sticky, sinister lake of butterscotch, Cobra Commander and the Baroness return to the Terror Drome. All the Baroness wants is a shower and something to wear that's not a bikini. First, however, there's the Commander's obligatory debriefing to attend; complete with bickering, accusations and a lot of high-pitching shrieking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drome sweet home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltedpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/gifts).



> This follows the episode _Gamemaster_, which is available [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNpNQUx_45w) on Youtube. The basic "plot" (is absurd, natch) is that Flint, Lady Jaye, Baroness and Cobra Commander are kidnapped by a crazy man called "the Gamemaster" who lives on an island of dangerous giant toys. The Gamemaster sends his kidnapped "playthings" off to find the single one-man helicopter, meaning that only one of them will escape alive. Shenanigans ensue, and a GI Joe/Cobra team-up enables the warring factions to locate their respective missing members.
> 
> For simplicity's sake, I have borrowed the Baroness' comics alias, Anastasia, to avoid her referring to herself as "Baroness" throughout the story, which is in her POV. Additionally, some references in this story occurred after this episode, but I'm quite certain the creators of the Sunbow series didn't worry about continuity, so I won't, either. Finally, I should mention that _laskovaya_ is a Russian endearment. My thanks to Eric and Waltzforanight for the beta!
> 
> Saltedpin, I saw this request of yours and knew I had to write something--Destro/Baroness was the very first OTP I ever had! I tried to finish it for you in time for Yuletide Madness, but alas, it was completed about twenty minutes after the archive closed for uploads. So here it is for you now, and I hope you like it--I love this show so much, and Cobra has always been my favorite. Happy New Year! (COBRA!)

**drome sweet home**

All Anastasia wants is a pair of shoes that aren't heels. And then to get out of this godforsaken bikini and have it _incinerated_ as soon as possible. She'd worn it to soak in a hot tub, not to flee from robot dinosaurs and engage in bitch fights with Lady Jaye.

The Rattler is freezing as it soars through the quiet night, heading back towards Cobra headquarters. She's huddled in the turret, wrapped up in Destro's cape, bare-footed and trying to run her fingers through the messy tangle of her hair. _My demented kingdom of fellow terrorist operatives for a ponytail holder._ "Where are we going?" she asks, pressing her heels against the cold metal siding for as long as she can stand it. She's used to piloting her own plane, but as they prepared to leave the Gamemaster's island, Destro shuffled her towards a Rattler muttering _I am not chauffeuring that shrill-voiced moron anywhere, Baroness, you will ride in the turret with me_, and she went with him willingly enough.

The fight with the giant lawnmower had taken it out of her. Let someone else fly for a change.

"We are returning to the Terror Drome on the Commander's orders," Destro answers smoothly, the plane cutting sharply to the right.

Anastasia immediately grasps the hidden message of _it is not safe to speak freely here_ that is coded in his answer, understanding that the Rattler he is flying is likely bugged and their conversation is being recorded. She knows this because neither her nor Destro ever refer to headquarters as the _Terror Drome_. In a fit of brilliance several months after construction was completed, Destro scathingly referred to it as the _Mild Unease Drome_ and they had taken to calling it _The Mud_ to each other in private conversation.

This conversation is, therefore, not private. She's not terribly surprised. Cobra Commander is not known for his trust in his officers, and while she can hardly blame him, she is tired and the thought of watching every word out of her mouth is irritating. Anastasia yawns and leans her head back, giving up trying to untangle her hair. Say what you will about the Terror Drome and the Commander's obsession with gold-relief snakes and elaborate thrones; the water pressure in the shower is fantastic, and the hot water is endless. Right now, uneasy or not, it sounds like heaven.

* * *

Cobra Commander is furious, of course, so the entire assembled Cobra force (most of whom had been asleep) has to endure his wrath as he struts around the throne room (really, it's the cargo bay--there _is_ a proper throne room, but it's not big enough to fit everyone so he only uses it for Monday staff meetings) berating them all in his distinctive, shrill voice.

"_How_ did this happen! _How_ did someone manage to _infiltrate our defenses_ and throw all of Cobra into _utter chaos_?" There is a lot of fist-waving accompanying his words, but everyone is used to this, and no one is stupid enough to point out how _often_ Cobra's forces end up in utter chaos. Or with the Commander screeching _retreat!_ while turning tail running towards an escape pod/Rattler/Trouble Bubble/Mamba/Hiss, leaving them all behind in a fit of self-preservation.

Of course, he's a terrible pilot, so most of the time he just flies the Trouble Bubble into a mountain or something and has to be rescued by the same people he was going to sell up the river. Come to think of it, the entire Cobra organization shares far too many characteristics with an abusive relationship to be comfortable.

Anastasia is so tired, she is nearly swaying on her feet as she pretends to listen to the Commander's infuriated monologue. Destro's cape barely conceals the fact she's in a bikini, and when she catches two Crimson Guardsmen looking at her she vows to have them executed even though it's entirely possible they are staring off into space and she's just in their way. It makes her feel better to imagine Destro having them shot, though, regardless of the fact she has no idea who either of them _are_. The uniforms are designed to make all the guards look the same, which is smart if you want to think of your henchman as weapons or canon fodder. Or to kill them out of spite if you're in a bad mood.

Although the Commander really doesn't need any help thinking of other people as worthless. Probably he just included the mask out of vanity. Which Anastasia supposes isn't actually that uncommon with your run-of-the-mill narcissistic tyrant, but if she sees Mindbender's personal guard start sporting monocles, she's going to file a complaint.

Not a soul interrupts the Commander's ranting. Mostly because they're all used to it by now, and besides, the quickest way to get through it is to let him finish without commentary. Every time something goes awry, he stands in front of his tacky gold throne and rants about how it's someone else's fault they didn't destroy GI Joe/successfully put his face on the moon/manage to control the weather. Nevermind these grandiose plans are always ridiculously convoluted, or _pointless_ considering their self-proclaimed goal of world domination (she's still not exactly sure how the thing with mind-controlling the animals was supposed to work out). It's never the Commander's fault if they fail.

According to him, it's usually because of Dr. Mindbender.

Anastasia feels a little bad about this, because Mindbender isn't really an idiot and half the time Cobra Commander doesn't listen to him anyway ("It's just that, with all due respect, Commander--that's not how gravity _works_,") but maybe this will make Mindbender put on a _shirt_. She has no idea how he walks around in just a cape, a monocle and a pair of pants. It's _freezing_ in here, isn't he cold?

Anastasia stands at something vaguely resembling attention next to Destro, dreaming about a shower, a hot beverage, and bed. It's all that's keeping her from dwelling on her present circumstances, which are humiliating enough to make her fair skin blush hot if she thinks too much about how disheveled she is. She's suffered through a lot of misogynistic situations as a Cobra operative, but standing barefoot in a bikini in front of the entire assemblage like some disgraced _Miss America_ contestant--this a new low, even for her.

_Here I thought it couldn't get much worse than Cobra Cash._

The Commander finishes his diatribe and sweeps by her in a snit, muttering about toys and stupid islands and GI Joe, and his _idiot army_ who can't triumph over an enemy who _didn't even know the difference between butterscotch and caramel._ Anastasia remains poised and blank-faced despite her state of dishabille, until the Commander pauses next to her, brown eyes wide and empty behind his blue cloth mask. "And why," he shrieks, pointing at her, "Were you in a _bikini_ in the first place! You're supposed to be a _soldier_, not a _Playboy_ bunny!"

Maybe it's because she's tired, or because she just survived a day menaced by giant wooden soldiers with guns, (or it could be because he's an _idiot_) but Anastasia lifts her chin and says without a single iota of respect for her supreme leader, "Because I was _in a hot tub_, Commander. Forgive me, but I was concerned my leather pants would shrink from all the steam."

Zartan, who's standing in the world's most disrespectful slouch on Destro's other side, snorts at that. "Maybe that's what happened to Mindbender," he says, and Anastasia struggles to keep her face straight and not laugh. Mindbender doesn't deign to respond to that, but Anastasia sees him look surreptitiously down at his pants when he thinks no one is watching.

Cobra Commander is silently pinning Anastasia with that vacant stare of his, as if he's not sure what to say. He settles on, "Next time, maybe you should be more _prepared_, Baroness! And why were you in a hot tub, anyway? We are a terrorist organization, not a Carnival cruise ship! Our goal is to rule the world, or did you forget?"

Anastasia's eyes narrow. "Maybe I forgot because you spend more time on theatrics than coherent plans!" she snaps, arms crossed over her chest. "And if you don't want us to _use_ the hot tub, Commander, perhaps you should not have had it installed!"

The Commander's eyes are practically bugging out of his head, and he stomps his foot and shouts, "I was going to use it for strategic world domination purposes, but one of the jets didn't work and I refuse to be surrounded by defective and worthless implements of terror!"

"And yet, we're still funding _Extensive Enterprises_," Zartan says, examining his nails. "One does have to wonder about your commitment to that statement."

"We resent that remark!" Xamot and Tomax state loudly in unison.

"You should--" Xamot begins, stepping forward importantly,

"--examine our I-90 forms--" Tomax continues,

"--and see the amount of revenue we earned this year alone!"

Tomax smirks. "It was _far_ more lucrative than your sea-serpent-shaped ship-eating machine. Not only did you fail to capture treasure of any real worth, but that--"

"--incurred a hefty penalty as we had to pay to prematurely remove money from our IRA to fund the venture and pay the Tahitian government for damages!" Xamot points at the Commander and says warningly, "If you continue doing that, we won't be able to afford hazard pay any longer, not to mention--"

"--the generous retirement benefits we offer all Cobra employees!" The twins chorus.

"Enough! I will not be made a fool of by my own men!" Cobra Commander clears his throat, shooting Zarana a dark glare. "And if _someone_ reports me to human resources again for _misogynistic and non-inclusive language_, I will have you _beheaded_! With a _laser_!"

Mindbender pats a nervous-looking Zarana on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he says reassuringly. "It probably wouldn't work. His track record with lasers is pretty awful."

The Commander whirls on him. "Well, and whose fault is _that_, I ask you! You're supposed to make me _weapons_, not strut around half-dressed and _fail_ all the time!" The Commander leans forward, peering at him. "Maybe the prescription in your monocle needs to be adjusted, did you ever think of that? I give you people health benefits for a _reason_, and it includes _vision_! Go and have that checked out! Get some _contacts_, you look like a demented _jewelry appraiser_, for the love of God."

"Don't believe him," Anastasia hears one of the guards tell another in a low voice. "Oh, you'll go to one of the in-network providers and they'll tell you it's a vision examination, and suddenly you have three heads or you get eaten by a giant spear of broccoli." A pause. "That's right, you weren't here for Destro's killer veggies. I forgot. Anyway, just trust me, if you need an eye exam? Pay the extra money and go to Wal-Mart."

It is very obvious to everyone that this mission debriefing has descended into petty arguments, insults, reiterations of past failures and assignation of blame for said failures. Like a Monday morning staff meeting, then, only without the coffee. Or the Cobra Christmas party, which at _least_ had a fully stocked bar even if the entertainment was Mindbender playing his emotion-control musical instrument. Most people ended up crying or throwing punches, which could have been either the device manipulating their emotional state or Mindbender's awful rendition of _Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon_. No one was really sure.

"This discussion is over!" The Commander squawks, and he points one trembling finger at Anastasia, obviously deciding it was her fault _he_ got kidnapped. "If you fail me in this fashion again, I will revoke your paid holiday leave and force you to work on Christmas! Speaking of...my adventure on the island of misfit toys has given me the most _fitting_ idea for your Christmas present this year, Baroness! We shall see if you are so foolish as to be inappropriately attired in the future!" He finishes that threat with his raspy, hysterical laugh, which echoes unpleasantly off of the metal walls and makes her head hurt.

She almost points out that Russian Christmas is January 7th and he _never_ gives her that day off, but instead she simply nods her head and stays quiet as he raises his fist and yells _COBRA!!_ There's a half-hearted response, and she swears she hears people yelling other thing that sound like _Cobra_ but aren't--_no bra!_ and _faux pas!_, for example--but the Commander is lost in his own delusions, so he doesn't notice. There's a brief moment of silence after the Commander flounces out of the room, as if they're all silently re-evaluating their loyalty oaths and wondering if they can re-negotiate their contracts. Or maybe everyone just wants to make sure he's actually gone, and isn't going to come back in for a lecture about socializing during work hours or planning happy hours where he's not invited.

Eventually, people begin to disperse. Zartan mutters something about _getting back to my swamp flu virus_ as he leaves, which could be something he's working on or could be some kind of code about a happy-hour at the Terror Drome bar. Anastasia's too tired to care, and there's no way she's going anywhere after this except to bed.

Mindbender is talking to one of the Crimson Guards and gesturing towards his pants. Anastasia can't hear what he's asking, but it's obviously making the guard nervous. His face is obscured by the mask, but his eyes keep darting towards the door and back, body tense like he's trying to decide if he should make a run for it or actually answer the question. Everyone knows displeasing Mindbender usually results in being used for some kind of painful, embarrassing, and ultimately fruitless experiment, so his dilemma isn't entirely unreasonable.

Mindbender scowls, huffily puts his hands on his hips and snaps, "I'm not going to harvest your DNA if I don't like your answer, fool. You're not smart enough to be of any use for me, save perhaps some spare organs should I suddenly need a kidney. Now, answer my question! Are these pants too tight or not?"

Before Anastasia can hear the poor guard's response to _that_, Destro puts his arm around her waist and practically sweeps her out into the hall and towards their suite. "Must you engage the Commander in conversation when he's in that mood?" he mutters, his glare frightening enough to send a few Cobra troopers scuttling away in fear. Or maybe they're going to take funny pictures in the throne room since the Commander's not there. It wouldn't be the first time. "We could have endured less of that farce if you had simply remained quiet."

Anastasia glares up at him and mutters something in Russian, then says crankily, "Destro, when _isn't_ he in that mood?"

Destro stops and looks down at her, the light in the hallway glinting eerily off his silver mask. He opens his mouth, but as she suspects, there is no real answer to that question because she's right. Destro purses his lips and keeps walking down the hallway. The floor is cold beneath her feet, but she refuses to mention it--he could pick her up and carry her, but that would look ridiculous. Her pride's been devastated enough for one day as it is.

Besides, Cobra Commander pretty much has the market cornered on ridiculous. It's the one thing he's really, really good at, along with mixing a perfect tequila sunrise, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Zartan thinks maybe the Commander was a bartender before he founded Cobra, but Mindbender says it's because the Commander's favorite movie is _Cocktail_ and he's spent a lot of time alone in his room watching it on his private television.

Apparently, reading minds doesn't do any good when there's nothing there--save a power complex the size of North America, raving lunacy, and a bizarre love of 1980's Tom Cruise movies.

Who knew.

* * *

"You could have worn a one-piece."

Anastasia rolls her eyes and sits on her bed (the comforter has the Cobra insignia on it--without pause, she yanks the damn thing off and tosses it angrily to the floor so she doesn't have to see it), legs crossed as she pulls a comb through her damp hair. She's warm and clean, and there are still the faintest trace of grass-stains on her feet but she doesn't care. "Honestly, Destro," she says, yanking at the tangles. "I was in a _hot tub_. You're lucky I wasn't _naked_."

He scowls at her, pacing, then stops with his hands on his hips. "Did the Commander make inappropriate remarks about your state of undress?"

She stares at him, incredulous, because--"_What_?"

"You heard me, Anastasia," he snaps, arms crossed. "Did he make a comment for which I shall be obliged to defend your honor?"

Destro calls her nothing but _Baroness_ in front of the Commander or any other Cobra operative, despite the fact their relationship is hardly a secret. It's just that Destro has some bizarre notion of _propriety_ that includes not addressing her by name in front of anyone. _As if my name is actually Anastasia,_ she thinks, sighing inwardly. She loves him, in her fashion, but that only means the lies she tells him aren't as deep as the ones she tells everyone else.

Not to mention, it's been so long since Anastasia heard her actual name, even _she_ might not remember it.

"_Nyet_, Destro," she responds, wincing as the comb pulls at a particularly stubborn tangle. "He has never seemed to think of me as a woman. Do you think he ever--" She stops and shudders. "Never mind, there are questions I don't want to know the answers to." Her accent is thicker because of her exhaustion, words rounded with the distinct syllables of her native Russia. "The Commander's sex life makes up about ninety percent of them."

"Oh, he thinks of you as a woman," Destro mutters, running a hand over the smoothness of his scalp. She knows his given name--_James_\--but she has never addressed him by it, not even in private. It seems too normal for a man with a metal face, living in a snake-shaped fortress and trying to help a megalomanic achieve world domination through inexplicable plans involving stolen art and love potions. "Believe me, I know. Do not think I did not observe where his gaze wondered when he gave his long-winded speech earlier, the harpy-voiced buffoon."

She has no idea what to say to this. Destro's jealousy is completely unfounded--if the Commander wants _anyone_, it's _Destro_\--but she has told him this before and her words have fallen on deaf ears; he simply cannot accept it. (His problem, she's pretty sure, isn't that the Commander is a man, it's that he's the _Commander_.) She is too tired to expound upon it again, so instead she stands up and tosses the comb aside, saying simply, "He is an idiot, Destro. Besides, he was going to leave me there, you know this, _da_? So if you want to defend my honor for anything, do it for that. I would only appreciate the irony of being mowed down by a giant lawnmower if it happened to anyone other than me." Just remembering that makes her angry. She swears in Russian again, a complicated curse upon the descendants Cobra Commander will likely never have, unless he spends more time socializing and less time on ruling the world. "Would _you_ have left me there, Destro?"

"Of course," Destro says, smiling, reaching out to put his hands on her waist. They slide deftly beneath the shirt she's wearing as he draws her closer to him. His fingers are warm against her skin, in contrast to the smooth metal covering his face and the slick cool curve of his smile. "You are smart enough to find your way out of any situation, my dear Baroness. I would never think otherwise. Nor would I waste my time with anyone who couldn't. I don't suffer fools lightly."

Anastasia rubs her hands up his chest and tilts her head up, looking up at him with a sly smile. "You say this, and yet you waste your time as the second-in-command to a--what is it you called him, _laskovaya_? A _harpy-voiced buffoon?_ What is he if not the greatest fool of all?"

"Every revolution needs its figurehead," Destro says, pulling her against him. "It just so happens ours has the IQ of a sea cucumber that mated with a bag of wet hair. Besides, Anastasia, we've managed to turn quite the profit in recent months. GI Joe, Interpol, and the other world police organizations--they are too busy trying to stop our exalted leader from drowning the world with the Aurora Borealis to interfere. Do you know how many arms deals I managed to coordinate while GI Joe was busy chasing my mutant vegetables?"

Anastasia grins at him, reaching up to trace the hard curve of his jaw with her fingertips. "Ah, yes. The day the eggplant wrecked havoc on the world. And no, you never did tell me. How many?"

"Enough that we don't need to worry about our piddly retirement fund from _Extensive Enterprises_ covering our expenses in our golden years," he says smugly.

"Ah. Good. My 401K took a beating in the stock market. Remind me to punch Xamot in the face for allowing him to select my mutual funds for me."

"Of course. You know I find it very...stimulating...to watch you humiliate cowardly men in suits." Destro leans down to kiss her, but he stops, sniffs, and then says, "You still smell like caramel."

Anastasia sighs. "Butterscotch. Which is very hard to wash off in the shower. Tomorrow, everyone will think you enjoy covering me in sundae toppings in bed." The look on his face makes her laugh, but suddenly, she has a horrible thought. "I am very worried it will be our next attempt to destroy GI Joe. The coded messages in rock songs and the sinister takeover of public television didn't work--I'm afraid we're running out of options."

"Don't give the Commander any ideas," Destro says firmly, shaking his head. "If I have to fly a Rattler to GI Joe headquarters and drench our intrepid foes in ice cream toppings, I'm blaming you."

She would laugh at his joke, but it's not like it's out of the realm of possibility. The Commander has certainly invented more idiotic ways to waste their time and resources.

Case in point, the _Synthoids_. She's pretty sure that started as a joke, too, and just look at how _that_ turned out.__


End file.
